Alone
by PuppyNoelle
Summary: Hope Estheim was no stranger to losing a parent. However, this time it meant that he was truly alone. FFXIII-2. HopexVanille.


_Alone_

Description: Hope Estheim was no stranger to losing a parent. However, this time it meant that he was truly alone. FFXIII-2. HopexVanille.

* * *

Hope Estheim had taken off in the tiny Academy airship the moment he heard that his father's condition had worsened. Bartholomew Estheim had come down with a lung infection a number of years ago, but the nearly sixty year old man had never once slowed down because of it- _until now_. The Estheim men were both notorious work-a-holics. Ever since they had come to live on Pulse, hard work had simply become everyday life to them. They helped build a town, they helped build the Academy, they both did nothing but work. This made Hope wonder if his father had been suffering in silence for all these years.

The twenty-seven year old man ran up the short stairway to the small house where he and his father lived together. Academia was primarily a small research and development town; regardless, it was still home. It was a home that Hope had been neglecting as he constantly traveled both Cocoon and Pulse in search of a way to save Vanille and Fang, and to prevent Cocoon from falling. This was the first time in his life that he felt guilt over his single-minded obsession with saving the two women. He was a terrible son. The worst. Thirteen years ago, he had detested his father, and in all that time since, he had still neglected the man who had worked tirelessly to support his family.

"_Dad!_" he yelled as he burst through the front door.

"Hope?" he heard his father call weakly from the master bedroom.

The door was wide open, the young man noted as he approached it. He heard a loud, hacking cough- one that didn't stop, even as he flew through the doorway and stopped at his father's bedside.

"Dad!" he exclaimed worriedly, grabbing the half-empty glass of water from the nightstand.

Finally, Bartholomew's fit ended, and he inhaled a long, deep breath.

"Here," Hope said, holding the glass out to him.

Gratefully, his father accepted it. After swallowing a few large gulps, he placed the cup back onto the bedside table.

"Hope," he finally said, taking his son's hand, "I'm so happy to see you. I knew I couldn't go until I'd gotten to talk to you one last time."

"Dad..." the son replied, tears beginning to form behind his eyes, "don't talk like that. You're going to be okay."

Bartholomew smiled wistfully. "It's all right, son. I've already accepted my fate."

"Dad-" the young man interrupted, squeezing his father's weak hand a little tighter.

"Shh..." the older man hushed his child, "Listen. My work here is done. The rest is up to you now, Hope-" The tears had already begun trickling down the young man's cheeks. "-Our world is depending on you. You'll be traveling into the future soon, and you can't do so while still looking back to the past."

"But Dad... I want you to come with me!" the young man insisted, "I want you to see the future we've been trying to build with your own eyes!"

The father shook his head. "The future is where _you_ belong, not me. I'm a part of the past, just as your mother is. It's time for me to be with her again."

"Dad..." His heart ached, but he understood his father's feelings. That was it. No more guilt. He would mourn, and then he would be alone. But his parents would finally be happy. Being separated from the one you love is the most difficult pain in this world.

His father smiled. "I have something to give you before you leave. Open the drawer in the nightstand. There's a box inside that I want you to pull out."

Confused, the platinum haired man obeyed. The box was fairly small, a little smaller than a shoebox, and was made of a dark, reddish wood.

"Open it," his father ordered.

He did. Inside sat a small, neatly arranged collection of necklaces, rings, bracelets, and earrings on top of a lovely red velvet.

"Mom's jewelry. But, I don't understand..."

Bartholomew pushed himself up into a sitting position. "When you rescue her from the crystal, I want you to give those to Vanille."

Hope's aquamarine eyes widened. "But... _why_?"

"Because," he answered, gently patting his son's hand, "_you love her_. I know you've never actually _said the words_, but I've always known. You've spent the past thirteen years of your life trying to bring her back. If she can inspire such complete devotion from you, then she deserves these jewels."

"Thank you, Dad," Hope replied, gently closing the box. "I'll make sure that she gets them."

"You're a good son, Hope," Bartholomew replied tiredly, as he leaned back down to rest. "I'm very proud of you, and I know your mother will be, too. I'll tell her everything, about the great man you've become, and about the great future ahead of you. She'll be so happy..." he murmured quietly as he began to drift into sleep.

Hope stayed by his father's side for the next two days. When Bartholomew released his final breath, Hope knew he was alone. He was the only Estheim. Though, that didn't mean that he would be the _last_.

That was the funny thing about the future.

* * *

~fin


End file.
